


Moonlight & Madness

by miscreant_rose



Category: Downton Abbey, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Crossover, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-14 15:25:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2196909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miscreant_rose/pseuds/miscreant_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My first crossover fic, but seriously, Emma Swan ends up in Downton and Lady Mary is missing and everyone is looking for her? How could I resist all the potential encounters as she tried to find where this Lady Mary has vanished to, and how to get herself back home. Will be told as a series of drabbles. (Just a note - I reserve the right to bump up the rating.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt from broadwaybaggins for a Matthew from Downton meets Emma Swan of Storybrooke drabble. I knew this was coming. Because I had mentioned how much fun and hilarity could ensue. And what is there were other suitors of Lady Mary around at the same time and they all had an Emma encounter? How would each handle it? Seeing as broadwaybaggins and Lala-kate have a lovely interplay of crossover Hook Lady Mary drabbles going on, I didn't want to stop into that and ruin it with all these gentlemen existing AU like, and they each have their own sections wonderfully plotted out. So I'll just steal the premise, as it were, with Lady Mary having vanished and spin this out to see just how many gentlemen (*cough*) might eventually appear.

**Moonlight and Madness**

He paced the room one more time, hands raking through his hair as he once more went over every possibility.  And impossibility, as nothing made sense; Mary was just gone.  Vanished.  She had been here, outside Crawley House one moment, and the next, when he turned back to talk to her, gone.  And yet for all his shock and confusion, it was miles worse for Lavinia.  She had been sitting right next to Mary, had cried out when, mid-sentence, Mary vanished in front of her.  

Lavinia still hadn’t recovered.  Shaking and trembling, she kept insisting it happened just as she said, working herself into deeper and deeper hysterics.  Even now, his mother sat at her bedside, watching over her drugged sleep as the entire Crawley family searched for answers and any sign of Mary.

Banned from the search of the estate grounds thanks to still healing wounds, he was left to pace, to try and make sense of something that had no sense to it.  They had scoured every corner of the house, the village, trackers still now combing the woods with lanterns and hounds, but somehow he knew she wasn’t there to be found.  Whatever kind of madness this was, it felt all too real.  Real but with a piece missing: Mary.

Rambling thoughts were interrupted as a strange green light flashed outside, briefly illuminating his bedroom as the floorboards under his feet trembled with an immediate roll of thunder.  Confused, he turned to the window.  He thought it had been clear tonight.  No, it _was_ clear, the light from a nearly full moon streaming silver over the top of trees outside in the garden.  But the chorus of dogs braying from neighboring houses meant he hadn’t imagined it that flash of lightening.

He slid the window open, leaning out slightly to listen.  He heard a bin rattle in the kitchen yard, likely some animal foraging for a scrap.  Perhaps it was just a random flash of a storm yet to come, another bit of the unexplainable after all that had happened today.

“Dammit!”

The clear curse in a woman’s voice that floated up to him was no trick of the imagination.  He caught his breath.  _Mary!_

He flew down the stairs two at a time, tearing through the back hall into the kitchen and throwing open the door to the yard.  He skidded to a stop in the middle of the cobbles, glancing around, checking the shadows.  “Mary?”

Silence greeted him.  He turned around, checking every corner again.  He felt he was going to go as mad as Lavinia, but he knew, he just knew someone was here and it had to be her.

Sighing, he turned back to the kitchen door and then froze, catching sight of the figure trying to hide behind the vine-covered drain pipe.

“Mary?”  He took a step forward reaching out a hand.  “Mary, it’s Matthew.  It’s all right; you’re safe now.”  God, she must be terrified, whatever had happened, she could be disoriented, she could be —

Not Mary.  

Moonlight glinted off of long blonde hair spilling out below a knit cap.

“Um, sorry?  Not exactly Mary.”  

The figure, clearly a woman, though she was wearing some kind of tight riding pant, stepped cautiously into the dim light.  

“But I’m taking it this Mary is possibly missing?”

The broad accent of her words jarred him, caused his brain to hesitate a second before understanding what she was saying.  “What?  Who are you?  What are you doing out here?”

She was holding her hands up in a silent plea, and her words were slow and calm despite what he thought was a tremor in her hands.  

“Emma.  My name is Emma.”  She hesitated, taking a deep breath as she held his gaze.  “I’m trying to figure out what I’m doing here myself, so if you could help me and tell me exactly where I am, maybe we can both make some progress.”

No, he was going mad.  Clearly, there was some kind of mental disease, something contagious going around.  He was trapped in it, Lavinia too, and maybe that meant Mary wasn’t missing at all.  If he was sick, then he would just have to wake up, right?  He started to turn to the open kitchen door, but stumbled.

A hand caught his arm, strong, but feminine.  He looked down to where this fair-headed intruder clasped him, her fingers curving around him in a gentle yet firm grip.  He glanced back to her face.  Was he imagining it, or did she seem to understand every thought racing through his head?

“I don’t think you are going mad.  At least I hope not, because otherwise I might be as well.  This is really happening, okay?  Just help me out.”  She blew out a deep breath before slowing asking,  “Where am I?”

He could feel the heat of her hand through his shirtsleeve, a warmth and something else coursing up his arm, spreading throughout his body.  His breath came easier, the fog, the frantic fear began to clear a bit from his mind.  He looked at this woman’s face again, this Emma.  He had no idea who she was, or why she was dressed as she was, but she was clean, not some vagrant.  Maybe she had been sent to help.  He swallowed, searching for his voice again.

“Crawley House.”  He cleared his throat again, words coming out steadier now.  “This is Crawley House.  My cousin Mary, Lady Mary Crawley, has gone missing.  Which is something everyone here knows.”  He searched her eyes for any sign or recognition from her, but all he could see was a hint of fear she was clearly trying to hide.  His voice nearly broke as he asked softly, “You haven’t seen her, have you?”

Emma shook her head.  “No, I’m sorry I haven’t.”  She hesitated just a second, taking in the cold terror that was once more washing over him.  “But I’m going to help you find her.”  Her expression mirrored the quiet calm of her voice, a plea for him to believe her, a hope for him to hold on to.  “I have a feeling it might be my fault — our fault — she’s gone.”

He started to asker her what she meant by it being her fault, but she cut him off.

“So Crawley House is where exactly?  Are we talking Enchanted Kingdom?”

“Enchanted Kingdom?”  No, maybe _she_ was the one who was mad.  What kind of questions were these?  The sense of calm flowed through him once more, pushing away the panic that had started to stir again.  He was compelled to answer her, to believe her, but he couldn’t figure out why.  “No, this Downtown.  In Yorkshire.”

“And I’m guessing from your accent we are talking Yorkshire as in England.”

He nodded mutely, watching her thoughts spin in dark eyes that hinted green.  As crazy as this all was, he knew she wasn’t mad.

“Right.  So here is the big question you’re going to have to help me with, and please just humor me and answer it.  _When_ are we?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the next installment, that is my late offering for "Once Upon A Downton Day." I'm not sure writing crack!fic is my strong suit, so you all have to let me know. As for where this is going, I just keep writing and they tell me! Massive thanks again to broadwaybaggins for the brainstorming (and letting me play along in the crack-fest), and Lala-kate and Cls2011 for putting up with my endless queries of, "Are you sure it works?"

Her heart was pounding a frantic pace against her ribs, and the sting from where she had cracked her head as she landed was starting to mature into a dull throbbing ache.

_Just keep it together, Swan.  Sharing panic will only get you killed._

She swallowed back the urge to let loose another expletive, wondering what the hell had gone wrong, besides her running to see that Zelena’s portal had opened in the barn.  Damn it, if she had only listed to Killian and backed off. 

But it was what happened in the portal itself that had her really panicking.  Oh, she knew that wasn’t a normal sensation, not after Killian’s cuff had slipped from her grip and she’d heard his shout echo after her, her name bouncing down the vortex ahead of her.  That’s when _it_ wrapped around her and tugged, a dark voice thrumming from _inside_ her, but not of her.  “ _Savior_.”  Something had wanted her and plucked her mid-fall, tugging her sideways, throwing her to this cobbled courtyard, at this Crawley House in bloody England of all places.  And faced with a very pale man who was staring at her as if they were both mad.

She gripped his arm again, trying to grasp onto some sense of calm, some scrap to share between them.  She took a deep breath.

“Right.  So here is the big question you’re going to have to help me with, and please just humor me and answer it.  _When_ are we?”

“When?” he echoed.  The look of total confusion didn’t reappear on his face, but he hesitated a second before answering her.  “The date is November 18.”  He raised a brow slightly as if asking her why.  

That was something she had no idea how to explain.  

Despite his shirt sleeves that had been rolled up, the tie that was loosened, this was far from casual dress he was in, and far from the latest Tom Ford.  Might as well just get it out there.

“Care to share the year with me?”

His brows did raise fully this time, but with almost a level of understanding.  “1918.”

She cupped a hand over her mouth, unable to stop the sharp laugh of terror that escaped her.  To his credit, he didn’t flinch, just kept watching her.

“You said you can help us find my cousin Mary?  That it was possibly your fault?”

 She liked his voice.  If she hadn’t just been sucked through a time portal and busy trying to hold on to her wits, she would be flirting with this guy just to get him to talk a bit more so she could listen to that voice that was rich and smooth and just a little dark, like a nice 12-year old Scotch.  Instead, he was asking more questions, and she was swimming for answers.

Before she could come up with something that wouldn’t get her arrested as a loon, there was a noise from the doorway behind him.  

“Matthew,” a female voice called as the door swung open, revealing a gray-haired woman in some kind of bathrobe.  “I heard voices.  Oh,” she hesitated moment, catching sight of Emma.  “Is there news on Mary?”

Emma could tell this woman’s eyes were fixed steadily on her, and not this Matthew with the really awesome voice that made her want a double Scotch.  She glanced at him quickly to see his reaction, and was surprised by the sudden calm she saw in his face.

“No,” he said steadily, holding Emma’s gaze a second before giving her the slightest nod and turning to face this woman in the doorway.  “No, Mother, no news, but Miss, um, Emma here has said she might be able to help us.”

Frying pan, fire.  Crafty bastard throwing her into the thick of it now.  She shot him a glare, ready to back off into the shadows, but suddenly he was the one with the grip on her arm and she knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

“Emma, is it?”  This gray-haired woman took in Emma’s attire.  “I take it you’ve been out searching?  Matthew, do hurry up and invite her in so we can hear what she has to say.”  She waved them both towards the doorway, though Matthew hesitated.  “Isobel Crawley, dear.  Would you care for some tea?”

Emma found herself passed from Matthew’s grip to this Isobel’s, and stumbled into the house, following blindly after the woman, frantically trying to think of some cover story.  She suddenly wished she had paid attention in history class — hell, any class at this point — so as to be able to come up with something that could conceivably make sense to these people.  Somehow time-traveling portals between fairy-tale realms and magic didn’t seem like it would go over in this rather Victorian looking drawing room.

Isobel clicked on the lights and sat on the edge of a chair, clearly ready to hear all she had to say, causing Emma to glance at Matthew who was now standing behind her, effectively blocking her exit from the room.  Holy crap, if she thought that voice of his had been awesome, she was now treated to just how light blue his eyes were, and they were making her completely distracted.   

His slightly boyish face revealed a perturbed expression, “Mother, I really don’t think this is —”

Isobel had an almost sweet look on her face as she cut her son off.  “Of course it isn’t wise to invite a total stranger into our house, but it is better than having her tell her story out back where anyone could overhear now, isn’t it?”  Her eyes had not left Emma the entire time she spoke.  “Now, Emma, if you could, your full name and actual purpose here?”

Had she answered yes to that cup of tea?  Because her mouth was so dry she could really use it right now.  She glanced from mother to son, taking in the different expressions, but both clearly waiting for the truth.  Emma wondered if she looked that way at someone when she was trying to figure out if they were lying.

She pressed her hands against her thighs, suddenly feeling overexposed in her slim-fit jeans and boots.  “Um, as I told Matthew here,” she glanced at him, gauging his reaction but his face was unreadable.  “My name is Emma Swan.  I, um….”  Shit, she had no idea how to even word this.  “I, uh —”

“She’s the Savior.”

The soft voice behind her that uttered those words sent a shiver up her spine and robbed her of breath.  She turned to see a petite woman, face framed with strawberry blonde hair and dressed in white night dress staring at her.  The ruffle of white lace combined with the sheerness of the fabric gave this woman an ethereal quality, and Emma wondered if in fact she had jumped too soon to the conclusion that she hadn’t jumped into a land familiar with fairies. 

Isobel was on her feet immediately, she and Matthew reaching out for the young woman woman, each exclaiming the name, “Lavinia!”

Emma continued to stare into the woman’s pale blue eyes, eyes that held a determination and confidence of belief that startled her.  This Lavinia shook herself free of Matthew and Isobel’s hands, and reached out to take Emma’s shaking hands in her own.  

“Her name is Emma Swan and she is the Savior.  They said she’s the one who is going to find Mary and save us all.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a tiny drabble intended to keep this story going. Based on the prompt from broadwaybaggins of "Emma & Matthews, Memory."

Nothing had shaken her yet, not like this.  Not the young red-haired woman who had clung to her, calling her an angel, not the dim lights and appointments of the room around her so unfamiliar.  Not even the face of this tall, fair-haired Matthew whose red-rimmed eyes, disheveled clothes, and pale face that spoke of an emotional break coming as surely as she was lost in place and time. 

Nothing shook her walls of fear until the tea poured into a fine china cup was handed to her, and the curl of its faintly smokey scent laced with citrus was suddenly all too familiar.  She remembered it warm and milky and sweet on her tongue, sipped out of a thick mug she wrapped cold fingers around, not wanting to tell her mother how much she preferred hot chocolate, because at that moment, Mary Margaret had smiled at her with eyes over-flowing in bliss and love, realizing she was sitting there with her daughter, still so new and precious.

Hands suddenly trembled, and palms burned much as her eyes did with the sudden prick of tears.  Fine flowered china was spared a fall to the floor by deft hands, and she felt the settee dip beside her as Isobel’s cool hands wrapped around her own, a reassuring squeeze and gentle touch.

“All will be right, my dear.  I believe you, and I know all will somehow be right.”


End file.
